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Reluctant Heirs
by Sylc
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Chapter Eleven: Lindo's Response

Chapter Summary: Lindir and Glorfindel's dinner outing is cancelled.

The city gardens were quite impressive, despite the youth of most of its plant inhabitants. Lindir was also impressed by his company, for Glorfindel was not only extremely knowledgeable about plants, but also humble in his respect for Lindir's limited, but specialist knowledge about the native flora of Lindon.

'Is that your favourite plant, then?' Glorfindel asked. Lindir had stopped for about the sixth time in front of a linden plant, which were a common species in the gardens. This time, it was a small shrub variety.

'Yes.' Lindir crouched down in front of the plant and reached out to run his hands over the green buds, which would in a few days bear the yellow blossoms unique to its species. As he touched them, the buds turned towards the caress.

Glorfindel made an admiring noise in his throat. 'Ah, so it is true, then.' He crouched down beside Lindir.

'Eh?' Lindir looked at Glorfindel, who flashed him another of those charming smiles.

'The rumours that Green-Elves may command a plant to move, speak, and grow are true,' he said.

Lindir hastily removed his hand from the plant. 'I did not know that,' he lied.

'I have also heard that it is a secret held only by the Green-Elves and that they jealously guard it,' Glorfindel continued, looking curiously at Lindir, who lowered his eyes to avoid meeting the other's gaze. 'Is it a learned skill?'

Lindir stood up, feeling flustered and annoyed at his carelessness. Or maybe it was the plant that was to blame for responding so visibly to his touch. Like most of the other native plants that were kept on show in the gardens, it had been starved of contact with Lindir's kind; it had responded with hysterical pleasure at the caress.

Glorfindel stood up as well. 'It does not matter,' he said. 'I already know that the Green-Elves manipulate the creatures of blessed Yavanna. There are too many coincidences for it to be a jest. That is why so many of my people burn the trees around Harlond.'

Lindir said nothing. He turned his head and looked at his guards, which now numbered eight because they had left the property. Two of the guards stood about six feet away. The other six stood at the perimeter of the clearing, their heads turning restlessly towards any noise or motion.

'It is nearly dark,' Glorfindel said. 'Come. Come, we shall go to that restaurant now and you shall judge my taste in Sindarin dishes.' He turned and began walking towards the north-facing exit of the gardens. Behind him, Lindir followed suit.


Elrond sneezed. He got up and lit a nearby lamp, which hung on the wall within arm's reach of the comfiest chair. Then he looked around for another lamp and lit that one as well. Then he sat back down.

He felt ill.


Glorfindel, Lindir, and their eight-person escort were heading down a darkened side street of Harlond when suddenly the city bells began to sound overhead. The noise grew in volume and spread all about the city walls and the main streets. Lindir cringed at the deafening crashes and clapped his hands over his ears.

Glorfindel seized him by the arm and thrust him at the guards. 'Take him back to the house!' he ordered them. 'Do not let him out of your sight!' Then he turned and ran off in the direction of the main streets of Harlond.

On the way back up the hill, Lindir and his guards happened to pause and turn to look back. Lindir half expected to see the forest alight, but to his confusion, everything in the city looked calm. Save for the bells, of course, which still tolled.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of many hooves approaching them and the guards hurriedly drew him to the side of the road. Moments later, a small troop of riders dressed in the livery of Lord Celeborn galloped passed them.

Moments after that, the company pulled their gasping horses about and rode back to them. Lindir recognised Master Erestor at the front of the company. Erestor looked shocked and angry at seeing him standing out in the middle of the countryside.

'Get Lindo's son onto a horse,' Erestor snapped. He glared at the eight guards who stood huddled on the side of the road. 'Make your way back quickly to the house. I expect a full explanation later tonight!'

Lindir was pulled up onto the back of a horse behind one of the riders and within moments, the company was off again and speeding towards the villa.

They had just entered the entrance hall when the doors opened again and Glorfindel hurried in, his face very pale. When he saw Erestor standing only a few feet away, his eyes widened and his face filled with concern.

'Erestor, I just heard...'

Erestor glared. 'And I just heard that you have been gallivanting all over the countryside with Lindo's son!'

Glorfindel glanced at Lindir before returning his gaze to Erestor. 'May I assume that this means that Lindo has severed ties with Celeborn as well?' he asked worriedly.

'He left no sign to speak the contrary,' Erestor sharply replied.

'Should you be here?'

'What?' Erestor's eyes narrowed. 'Where else should I be?'

Glorfindel swallowed. He looked uneasy. 'Should you not be collecting Moyel's body?' he asked hesitantly.

Erestor's face tightened. 'I have sent word to his mother,' he said coldly, his tone making it very clear that he disapproved of the question.

'Ah.' Glorfindel looked awkward.

There was a silence.

Suddenly, the door opened and the eight guards who had escorted Lindir up the hill shuffled nervously into the entrance hall.

Erestor looked at them impatiently. 'Take Lindo's son upstairs and lock him in his rooms,' he snapped.

Lindir turned and went over to the guards. One of them put his arm around him. Lindir was surprised at the contact and halfway up the flight of stairs he turned to look at the elf's face. His brow knitted.

In his ears, he heard Erestor saying, 'We shall have to try and contact Lindo's clan a second time. And if that fails, keep on trying to contact him. Evidently, he...'

Near the top of the stairs they met with two elves that were watching the conversation taking place downstairs. One was a maid. The other was the healer who had attended to Lindir's nose. Both elves smiled and nodded at Lindir and his guards before returning their attention to the scene in the entrance hall.

Glorfindel was saying, 'I am not willing to risk my servants in repeated attempts to contact Lindo if they are to become naught but passive sport for their swords.'

Two of the guards approached the maid and the healer from behind, drawing their swords as they did so. Moments later, and the swords had been thrust straight through the back of each of the elves' heads. The blades poked through the front, thick with blood. Lindir stared. Then he screamed.

In the entrance hall, all heads swivelled around to stare up at him and the guards. Each face froze in horror as they sighted the two corpses that now lay slumped over the banister, blood pouring from their faces and coursing down the white wooden balusters.

Lindir would have kept on screaming, but the elf with his arm around him slapped a hand over his mouth and hissed in his ear for him to be silent. Lindir began crying and choking.

Suddenly, Lord Glorfindel snarled, 'Finglas!'

Lindir followed Glorfindel's burning gaze to the guard who had despatched the healer. The elf, who was currently easing the healer's body over the banister, looked down at the crowd in the entrance hall and smirked.

'Glorfindel,' he replied. 'Do you have any more passive sport?'

Glorfindel's face filled with rage. He looked as if he wanted to charge up the stairs and throttle the smirking elf then and there. Lindir half-expected him to, considering that the eight guards held nothing to physically restrain any of those people standing below, but for some reason, Glorfindel did not move.

'What are you doing, Finglas?' Erestor asked angrily, glaring up at the nine of them. 'You cannot get out of these premises alive.'

Finglas pushed the centre of the healer's weight over the banister and the corpse went rushing out of sight. Lindir heard a heavy thud when it hit the floor of the entrance hall. There was another muffled thud when the body of the maid joined it.

'Are you hoping to rescue Lord Lindir?' Erestor snapped.

'You have admirable security, Glorfindel,' Finglas said, looking at Glorfindel, whose eyes narrowed.

Some of the elves of Erestor's company were edging towards the stairs, their swords drawn. Finglas glanced at them and on following Finglas's gaze, Erestor looked at the guards and hissed, 'Go back to your positions!'

'Lord Lindo has a message for you,' Finglas said sourly, once the guards had stilled. 'He is willing to meet with you, although it currently appears that he may not be so willing tomorrow morning, considering our luck in being able to return his son so conveniently to him. Thank you, Erestor.'

Erestor scowled.

'He expects your negotiators to be at the shrine to King Denethor at sunrise the day after tomorrow,' Finglas continued. 'He will send guides to meet you there. They will escort you to where he wishes to hold these talks. If Lindir does not escape with us tonight, then we expect Lindir to be at the shrine with you.'

'We understand.' Glorfindel said.

There was a gasp across the landing and Lindir turned his head to see that two more maids had been stopped by the guards. These servants were not immediately killed, though. Blades held to their throats, they were brought towards the banister and in view of the people standing below in the entrance hall.

Lindir's eyes widened and he began struggling to get out of the guard's hold. The elf holding him tightened his grip.

'Am I not your lord?' he gasped. Then, on seeing that Finglas had not heard him, he shrieked, tearfully, 'Am I not your lord?'

Finglas turned and looked at him. Then he turned his sharp eyes onto the guard holding him. 'Let him go,' he ordered.

Lindir was released, although he was not at all pleased at being the target of Finglas's eyes, which were even sharper than Master Erestor's eyes. He swallowed.

'Why must you kill them?' he asked. 'What have they done wrong?'

Finglas's eyes narrowed and he turned his head and looked down at those in the entrance hall. Then he looked sharply back at Lindir, who swallowed again.

Then Finglas smirked. He returned his attention to those in the entrance hall.

'What is your reply?' he demanded. 'Will we see you at the shrine?'

'We will see you at the shrine,' Lord Glorfindel said tightly.

Finglas nodded and turned to cross the landing to begin ascending the next flight of stairs. The three guards who had seized the two maids thrust aside the maidens and followed him. The other four hesitated and one of them called after Finglas, 'Captain! What about Lord Lindir?'

Finglas did not slow in his pace or look back as he called back, 'He will be a burden on us. Let the Goelydh1 continue to tame him.'

Lindir watched the guards leave his side and dart after Captain Finglas. He wondered where they were going and briefly, if he should go with them. Finglas's last words replayed themselves painfully in his head.

He stepped back against the wall when servants of Lord Glorfindel's and Master Erestor's households ran up the steps and disappeared the same way of Captain Finglas and the rest.

Someone touched his arm. 'Are you unhurt?'

'Uh?' Lindir looked around and saw that Glorfindel was standing on the step below him. He nodded numbly and turned his head to look at the blood that was coursing down the balusters. Glorfindel followed his gaze and his face tightened.

'Glorfindel.'

Glorfindel and Lindir looked to the bottom of the staircase where Erestor had just called up to them. Erestor looked frustrated. Glorfindel nodded attentively.

'I am sure that you have bewitched the entrances and exits shut,' Erestor said, 'so how will Finglas's team escape the house?'

'They will have to force their way out.' Glorfindel replied. 'Hopefully, that will buy our guards some time to catch up with them.'

There came the sudden sound of clamouring upstairs: shouts, clashing swords, and the sound of objects crashing to the ground. Glorfindel's hand wrapped around Lindir's upper arm and he looked up towards the second level landing. His brow knitted.

'It sounds as if they are in Lindir's room,' Erestor said.

There was a sudden wrenching noise upstairs of metal and wood and the entire building shook beneath their feet. Glorfindel stumbled, re-caught his balance and then, as the building continued to shake, he grabbed a startled Lindir by the shoulders and flung their weights against the wall. Lindir was crushed under the taller elf's bulk and assaulted by the other's warmth and the smell of fresh perspiration. And then Glorfindel's heavy silk-like tresses fell forward over his shoulders and against Lindir face. They smelt of roses.

Glorfindel turned his head and looked back up in the direction of the second floor. Lindir looked up there as well. Now that he thought about it, the noise sounded as if part of the house had collapsed, but visually, he could see nothing amiss save the blood that was beginning to dry on the balusters.

'MY LORD!' Moments later, the speaker rounded into sight as the servant came down the stairs. 'They have broken down the exterior wall of the fifth guest room and escaped through the gap,' the servant gasped.

Glorfindel brow knitted. 'Is it likely that the damage will affect the rest of the house?' he asked worriedly. As he spoke, Lindir's gaze drifted to the tendons of Glorfindel's pale neck. There was a grass stain on the collar of Glorfindel's blue tunic and Lindir recalled that Glorfindel had paused to scratch his neck when they had been in the city gardens.

'It does not appear to have damaged the rest of the house,' the servant said.

'That is good. But to be sure, take Haldor and those others who know something of architecture to examine the house's structural foundations.' Glorfindel straightened and Lindir silently appreciated his personal space again.

'Yes, and uh...' The servant's gaze drifted pointedly to the floor of the entrance hall.

Glorfindel grimaced. 'I would appreciate it if you could ask someone to clean them up and take them into the drawing room. I will send for their relatives as soon as I have secured Lindir.

The servant disappeared back up the stairs. Glorfindel took Lindir by the arm and escorted him back down to the entrance hall floor where Master Erestor still stood.

There was a pause.

'I suppose,' Glorfindel said presently, 'I suppose we should be glad that Finglas visited us. At the very least, it means that Lindo has heard and heeded the messages of those we sent to contact him.' He looked soberly at the two corpses lying on the tiled floor, lying in their own blood. Then he looked at Master Erestor, who had followed his gaze to the bodies.

'I think you should go and attend to your son's body,' Glorfindel said quietly. 'Or at the very least, you should go to one of my guest rooms and rest. You look exhausted.'

Erestor turned his head and glared at him. 'I do not need or wish to hear your advice about my personal affairs or my health, Glorfindel,' he snapped. He took Lindir by the arm. 'I will take Lindir to your winter room. That is a secure room. He can sleep there tonight.'

'Would you like me to provide you with some elves to replace his guards?'

'No, and I thought you were unable to spare any of your servantry for that purpose,' Erestor said. 'I have servants enough.' He turned away, pulling Lindir with him.

'What about a guest room?'

'I do not intend to sleep tonight. Although I will investigate that library that lies beside the winter room.' Erestor stopped and half-turned to cast Glorfindel a look that might have been mild approval. 'I assume you have some quality literature that will interest me.'

Glorfindel smiled weakly. 'I... I have some Valinorean texts, which you may not have seen, although I doubt it. They are mostly reference texts. The rest, save for my own works, I think you have already read.'

Erestor nodded curtly. 'Excellent.' He turned and escorted Lindir smartly out of the entrance hall and off to the back of the house where both the library and the winter room were located.

1 Goelydh - Sinda (unfriendly) name for the Noldor [plural]


Chapter Twelve: Supper With Prince Erenion

Chapter Summary: Elrond meets Erenion and is confronted with the truth in Halmir's words.

Elrond had been waiting for about three hours before he heard footsteps coming downstairs. He had a headache, his nose was running, and he had a sore throat.

'Hello?' a voice called. It was not Prince Erenion's voice. Elrond turned his head and gazed bitterly at the open door.

Moments later, that milk-skinned Noldo elf who Elrond had witnessed perusing Prince Erenion's body with great interest at sunset, rounded the corner, dressed in a velvet dressing gown that was hanging open to his navel. On spotting Elrond, the elf's tired black eyes widened in surprise and confusion.

'Who are you?' the elf queried, raising a thin hand to push his tousled hair out of his eyes and back into a semblance of decorum. It utterly failed. The hair fell forward and back into his eyes. Not that improving his hairstyle would have helped his appearance. Elrond could see semen glistening on his neck and his Maian senses had picked up the reek of wanton abandonment from six feet away.

He stood up, trying not to stare too openly. As he gazed at the black hair, the black eyes, the thin appearance, and the pallor of the elf, he supposed that Halmir was probably right. This was most likely Malgalad, grand-son of Erendur and son of Erestor.

'My name is Elrond, son of Eärendil,' Elrond replied. His voice sounded raspy in his ears. 'I wish to speak to Prince Erenion.' He hesitated before inquiring, as politely as he could muster, 'May I learn your name?'

'Uh... Malgalad.' Malgalad looked distracted. He turned his head and gazed behind him and in the direction of the stairwell. 'Son of Erestor.' His brow knitted. 'Prince Erenion is sleeping.' He looked back at Elrond.

'I... see.' Elrond's jaw tightened. 'And when will he be available to see me?'

'Uh... tomorrow,' Malgalad said hesitantly. Then he added, nervously, 'maybe.'

'Maybe?'

Malgalad nodded doubtfully, looking rather pathetic. 'Mm.'

Elrond sat back down. A black weight had settled on his mind to join his headache. 'I suppose I have no choice but to wait, then,' he said, with undisguised resentment.

Malgalad nodded weakly and turned to leave the room. But then he seemed to wake up a bit: he turned back around, his brow knitting again. 'Did you say your name was Elrond?'

Elrond shot him a sideways look of open rancour. 'To you, that is Lord Elrond,' Elrond said, rubbing in the point.

Malgalad's eyes widened again, this time in consternation. 'I... I will wake the Prince up immediately, Your Lordship,' he stuttered. He bowed deeply before turning to scramble across the hallway and back up the stairwell.

Elrond was in too sour a mood to feel any pleasure at Malgalad's discomfort. Also, Malgalad had left the scent of sex in his wake. Elrond tapped his left fingers on the left arm of the chair in which he sat and gazed bitterly across the drawing room. Hopefully, this meeting could be over and done with by tomorrow morning.


There was no actual bed in the winter room, but Master Erestor quickly solved that matter with a bunch of succinct words with Lord Glorfindel's butler, Neldor. Soon, a small mattress had been brought in and laid out on the carpet along with two pillows and some woollen blankets. Lindir was also provided with a new nightshirt and a hair brush.

'I will take a little time to gather your clothes, Your Lordship,' the butler explained nervously, holding out a nightshirt and a hairbrush to him.

Lindir nodded.

'Your original rooms were heavily damaged by your people,' the butler said.

Lindir swallowed. His people? Did that mean that he was responsible for what that elf Finglas and his friends had done? He meekly took the nightshirt and brush.

'Thank you,' he said. He turned his head and looked hesitantly at Master Erestor, who was standing at the window and gazing out at the gardens, which lay in deep shadow. He looked back at the butler. 'I... I would like to go to bed now, Neldor.'

'Sleep well, Your Lordship,' the butler said. 'Will there be anything else? Supper, perhaps?'

'Ah... no.'

Neldor bowed, turned, and left the room.

Lindir sat down on the nearest chair, a red reclining chair, and unfastened his tunic. He shrugged it off and his shirt followed. Then he tugged the nightshirt over his head, struggling slightly with the task of getting his arms through the sleeves.

Then he leaned forward, folded his arms across his knees, and lay his head down on them.

In his mind's eye, he saw the sword blades re-pierce the heads of the healer and the maid. The blades plunged straight through their flesh and bone without any hesitation.

Lindir rolled his head on one side. So those elves, those elves whose blades had showed no hesitation, those executioners without remorse or any comprehensible morality, were his people. Lindir's face crumpled. He did not recognise any of their characteristics. He did not see any sense of home in those elves. And they did not recognise him as one of their own. They did not even recognise him as important to them.

'He will be a burden on us. Let the Goelydh1 continue to tame him.'

He swallowed.

How was peace supposed to be forged between the Noldor, Sindar, and Green-Elves if these were the sort of elves who comprised the Green-Elves? How was he supposed to have any influence on them if they did not respect his word? How was he supposed to befriend and influence them if he could not understand them and feared them? There was nothing that Lindir saw in them that he understood, much less held in common.

What was worst was that he felt more in common with Lord Glorfindel's and Master Erestor's folk than his own people. And that, judging from tonight's events, he actually preferred to stay with them than to go back to his own family.

And it seemed that his people thought that he should do the same.

Tears pricked at his eyes.

He toed off his shoes and stood to unfasten his stockings and slip them off his legs. He glanced back at Master Erestor and thought back to what Lord Glorfindel had said when they had been in the entrance hall. Who was Moyel?

Master Erestor shifted and Lindir hurriedly averted his gaze. He turned his attention to his discarded clothing and set about folding them. Soon the garments lay in a neat pile on the seat.

Lindir glanced back up at Master Erestor and hurriedly looked away when he saw that Erestor was watching him in the windowpane's reflection. He knelt to the carpet and turned to crawl onto his bed where he settled down on his side, his face turned away from Erestor. Maybe sleep would clear his thoughts. He curled his hands underneath the pillow beneath his head and pressed the soft material against his face.

Maybe, he comforted himself, there was a reason why that elf, Finglas, had wished him to stay in this house. Yes, perhaps that was it.


It was not long after Malgalad had left that Elrond again heard movement on the stairs. It sounded as if there were two pairs of feet, so he took in a deep breath. He had not seen Prince Erenion since he had been a small child living with the Exiles at the Mouths of the Sirion in Beleriand. It had been such a long time, that Elrond remembered little more than a distant image of a tall majestic elf who wore white, silver, and blue raiment with shoulder length golden tresses that were always fastened back into tight braids.

He heard Malgalad speak in a hushed voice to the other person. 'I think he has been waiting for a long time,' Malgalad said.

The other person said nothing.

Elrond exhaled the breath and his expression cleared. He looked expectantly at the doorway and watched Malgalad and Prince Erenion enter the room.

Elrond's first thought was astonishment and relief: Prince Erenion looked little different to how he remembered him despite forty years and despite being garbed in sleeping rather than battle robes. The main differences were that they were now about the same height; Erenion was extremely thin; and his locks fell down to his waist, almost to the length of Glorfindel's silken tresses. And then Elrond noticed the gleam of resentment in Erenion's eyes. That was also different.

'Elrond,' Erenion flashed him a superficial smile as he strode forward. Elrond hurriedly stood up to receive what he anticipated as a formal embrace. So he was taken aback when he felt warm lips press to his right cheek and arms encircle him. He stiffened. The scent of sex that surrounded both Malgalad and Erenion was now overpowering.

Erenion pulled back and smiled broadly at him. 'Elrond,' he said crisply. 'What a pleasant surprise! And... and look how tall you have grown.' He looked Elrond up and down.

Elrond was unsure if Erenion was genuinely pleased to see him or if he was mocking him. He decided to go with the former and he smiled back. 'You have hardly changed at all,' he said.

'I never change,' Erenion said carelessly, slipping an arm around Elrond and settling an intrusive hand on Elrond's waist. 'You must be hungry. It is thanks to Malgalad that your presence here was noticed.'

'Uh... I was surprised to see no servants.' Elrond found that he was being firmly guided towards the door of the drawing room.

'They have their own residence a little further north,' Erenion said. 'I prefer my solitude.' He put his other arm around Malgalad and walked both of them out into the entrance hall and across to the dining room.

Once they had entered the room, Erenion's hand dropped from around Malgalad. 'Kitten,' he purred. Elrond turned his head and stared at the pair in astonishment. Erenion's hand tightened on Elrond's waist, much to Elrond's discomfort.

'Kitten,' Erenion continued, addressing Malgalad. 'Go and fetch Elrond and I some supper, and something for yourself, if you are hungry.'

'Master.' Malgalad bowed before turning and hurrying out of the dining room. Elrond heard his feet sounding on the stairs that led down to the kitchen.

'Be seated,' Erenion said, guiding Elrond to the table. He released Elrond and pulled out a seat. 'I cannot believe how tall you have grown in these last... what is it? Thirty years? You must be in your fifties now.'

'It has been forty years,' Elrond said as he sat down. 'And I am exactly fifty nine summers.' He started when he felt a hand rest on his head and start to stroke his hair.

'You were already quite tall when last we met,' Erenion continued in his smooth voice. His hand drifted to rest on Elrond's right shoulder. Elrond quickly glanced around to see if anything could reflect his expression and on seeing that there was nothing of the sort, he scowled. Hard.

'How is Elros?' Erenion asked.

Elrond's scowl was rapidly replaced with confusion. He turned in his seat to stare up at Erenion in astonishment. 'Do you not know that Elros is missing?' he asked.

Erenion's eyes widened. Then his face darkened. 'I did not know,' he said, and his tone sounded genuinely serious for the first time. 'When did he go missing?' He pulled out the seat to Elrond's right and sat down.

'I am not sure,' Elrond admitted, still frowning at Erenion's ignorance. 'But he went missing during the war. I am astonished that you did not know that he disappeared. Even now, they still send out search parties to look for him. There was one that came in this direction as well.'

'I do not keep up with events in Lindon,' Erenion said dismissively.

'Surely Lord Círdan keeps you updated,' Elrond asked, thinking of the renowned friendship between Prince Erenion and Lord Círdan.

'Oh yes,' Erenion said carelessly. 'But I do not read his letters. He never writes anything of interest to me.' He stared moodily at the tabletop. 'It is always bad news.'

Elrond hesitated. Then, he ventured, 'It is better news than in the years before the War of Wrath.'

'Is it?' Erenion sounded doubtful.

'May I ask why...'

'So. How is Gildor?' Erenion interrupted. He turned his head and gazed intently at him. Elrond swallowed.

'Uh... he is well,' Elrond said. 'He is helping Lord Círdan and Lord Glorfindel manage the Noldor camps.' He was about to allude to the reason for his visit, but Erenion cut him off again.

'You grew up with him, did you not?'

'Yes.' Elrond opened his mouth to try again. 'Erenion...' he began.

There was a step at the door and they looked around to watch Malgalad enter the room, staggering under the weight of armfuls of dishes and two flagons. 'Kitten!' Erenion exclaimed. He pushed back his seat and jumped up to hurry to the door.

'What a feast!' Erenion gushed as he relieved the suffering Malgalad of the flagons, two plates, and three empty goblets. He came back to the table and set the items down in front of Elrond. Malgalad followed and gingerly lowered his burdens down to the tabletop. As he bent, Elrond noticed the dressing gown tie come undone and he stared blankly at the view with which he was presented before coming back into himself and averting his eyes from the sight of Malgalad's nakedness.

He heard Erenion chuckle throatily. 'Kitten, you are offending our guest,' he said. 'You embarrass me.'

There was a yelp, a splash, and a thud. The smell of fish stock rose into the air and Elrond felt hot liquid spatter onto his arms. He turned his head to look back at Malgalad, who was standing bent over the table, his hands splayed out on top of the stew pot, which sat in a puddle of what appeared to be its spilt contents. His dressing gown hung wide open.

This was surprising enough without the added surprise of seeing Erenion standing directly behind Malgalad with his arms around the younger elf's waist. Elrond's gaze drifted first to the high spots of colour in Malgalad's cheeks; then to Erenion's hands, which were ascending from whatever they had been doing in the vicinity of Malgalad's genitals; and lastly to observe that Erenion was pressing his pelvis against Malgalad's rear end.

Erenion met his gaze and Elrond blushed and glared defensively back at him. Erenion smirked and looked down at Malgalad, who had remained still, seemingly uncertain of what to do next. The sleeves of his dressing gown were trailing in the puddle of stew and slowly turning dark with the hue of saturation. Erenion looked back at Elrond.

'Here, allow me to assist your condition,' Erenion purred, gazing intently at Elrond although his words addressed Malgalad. His hands reached for the dangling ties of Malgalad's dressing gown and he deftly closed the gaping window to the younger's nakedness. Then Erenion stood back and Malgalad was free to move again.

Red in the face, Malgalad straightened and turned around. 'May I go and change my garb, Master?' he requested awkwardly.

Erenion's eyes sparkled with amusement. 'Of course. So long as it is another dressing gown.'

'I...' Malgalad flushed harder, glanced in Elrond's general direction without meeting the half-elf's eye, and then turned to hurry out of the dining room.

A smile on his face, Erenion looked at the puddle on the table. 'What a mess,' he observed. He looked at Elrond, who sat about a foot away from the disaster zone. 'You are not burnt by the liquid, I hope?'

'No, only a little splashed and it was not that hot,' Elrond said, a trifle warily.

Erenion nodded vaguely, still smiling. When he returned to his original seat, Elrond discreetly edged a few inches across his own seat to try and maximise the distance between himself and Erenion. He felt his headache make a reappearance.

'So tell me,' Erenion said as he took one of the plates that he had placed in front of Elrond. 'What are you doing here?'

At last! Elrond smiled in relief despite the throbbing pain behind his eyes. 'I wish to discuss the matter of the crown with you.'

'Which crown do you have in mind?' Erenion queried as he took the cover off the stew pot and peered at the contents. His nose wrinkled.

'The Crown of the Noldor Elves,' Elrond clarified.

'Do you like hagfish?' Erenion asked doubtfully, turning his head and looking at him. 'Or thistle eel?'

Elrond stared blankly at him. 'I...'

Erenion flashed him a charming smile. 'You can be honest. I personally dislike such fare. I have difficulty understanding how anyone can enjoy such a taste, but Kitten, like all cats, seems to enjoy any meat so long as it is fresh.'

'I do not mind hagfish,' Elrond said. 'And I quite enjoy thistle eel.'

'Really?' Erenion looked disbelieving.

Elrond briefly toyed with the idea of explaining to Erenion how Lindir had taught him how to savour the unusually bitter taste of thistle eel, but suddenly recalled the obscene drawings in Erenion's sketchbooks.

So he just nodded, picked up his own plate and a ladle, and reached forward to help himself to the contents of the stew pot. Erenion turned away, reached to uncover a platter on which was arranged a roast chicken, and to Elrond's irritation, began picking at the crispy skin with his fingers.

And re-picking. And eating what he had picked and then reaching back for more.

Elrond hands tightened so hard that he could feel the ladle handle bending under the pressure. Seeing red, he forced his attention back to the fish stew; he ladled a generous portion of the stew onto his plate. Then, before Erenion could turn his attention towards any other of the foodstuffs, Elrond hurriedly took up one of the two loaves of bread and tore off about half of it.

'I am surprised that you are acting as a messenger,' Erenion mumbled through a mouthful of chicken. Elrond looked up from buttering his bread and blinked when his vision suddenly swayed before him. He quickly leaned back in his chair and willed the affliction away.

'This is a private matter between you and I,' he said. 'And I did not want to trouble you with my servants, especially with an unannounced arrival.'

Erenion nodded and swallowed down his mouthful. 'So,' he said, 'what do you want to tell me about that crown?'

'Lord Círdan wishes it to be claimed be...' He stopped when Erenion suddenly pushed back his chair and stood up.

'Oh, go on, go on,' Erenion said, flashing him a charming smile. 'I just want to fetch some absinthe. I have a perchance for it.'

Elrond's vision wavered again and he keeled towards the table top. He tried to raise his hand in time to balance himself again, but it was not his hand that caught him and pushed him gently, but firmly back against the chair back. It was not his hand that reached to cup his forehead.

Through his wavering vision, he saw Erenion peering at him with grave anxiety. 'You have a fever,' Erenion quietly observed, removing his hand from Elrond's forehead. 'We shall continue this talk when you are recovered. Come. I will escort you to a spare bed.'

1 Goelydh - Sinda (unfriendly) name for the Noldor [plural]


Chapter Thirteen: Melpomaen, Son Of Erestor

Chapter Summary: In which Lindir is almost killed and Erestor shows his skill at using books as weapons.

Lindir supposed that he was standing in almost the exact same position as Master Erestor had been in the previous night. He put his hands behind his back and gazed out at the view of Lord Glorfindel's vegetable gardens.

Beyond the gardens lay a low wall, on which grew great clusters of yellow roses, which gleamed brightly under the noon sun. Lindir gazed at the top of the wall, over which he could see the tops of the trees that inhabited and bordered the property.

There was the sound of flicking parchment as a page was turned and Lindir glanced sidelong to where Master Erestor sat in a chair beside the only door out of the winter room, a book in his hands. Erestor was dressed in robes today: black robes that matched his black eyes. Lindir had predicted that a Master Erestor in robes would be less intimidating, but he had been mistaken: the robes seemed to have made Erestor even more forbidding.

His gaze shifted to where, inches away from Erestor's pale left hand, lay the hilt of a sheathed sword.

At that moment, Erestor's eyes whipped around to stare coldly at him. The gaze held a stern warning.

Lindir hurriedly returned his attention to the view of Lord Glorfindel's vegetables. Inwardly, he reminded himself not to pay attention to weapons in Master Erestor's possession. Or to Master Erestor at all, if that was at all possible.

He wondered what was going on in the other parts of the mansion. He had not been permitted to leave the winter room save to go to the bathroom. On those occasions, he had been accompanied either by Master Erestor himself or by two of the four guards who stood beside his door and much as Lindir disliked Master Erestor's company, these new guards also made him feel extremely uncomfortable. Not that that was unexpected. After all, they had been colleagues of Lindir's last guards, who had met with Finglas and an unknown number of other Green-Elves last night.

He turned around and sat down with a thump on the window seat. Master Erestor glanced at him attentively, but after assessing his motion, Erestor returned his attention to his book.

Lindir looked curiously at the book. From what he could see, it was written in an ancient form of High-Elven, the written script of the elves who lived in the Undying Lands in the uttermost west. If it was written by Lord Glorfindel, then Lindir thought that he had an extremely elegant hand, although it looked near indecipherable. It was, if possible, even more indecipherable than Elrond's hand. Lindir found it difficult to read Elrond's writing even when Elrond was deliberately trying to write legibly. Then again, Lindir found it difficult to read most written works, whether by Elrond or not. He had put it down to his own stupidity and a natural lack of skill at anything written... or mathematical... or scientific. It was the natural fate of a pure-blood of the Teleri Kindred to be illiterate, obscene at arithmetic, and illogical at science. Or maybe he had just succumbed to believing a prejudiced belief of the Noldorin Elves. That was what Elrond had told him when Lindir had once confided his discomfort about such failings in his half-elven friend. Elrond had pooh - poohed his fears and told him to harden his heart towards the words of those who sought to hold him down.

Lindir had never raised the subject again. He had also never told Elrond how he had felt caged on the island. He had felt as if he was being held back. He had felt taunted. Every day of his life as a hostage of the Noldor and Sindar of Lindon and as a resident of The Island, he had been in sight of the land on which his true life lay and the barrier between him and that life, the deep tumultuous waters that kept him captive.

He sighed and leaned his head on the side of the window frame. He missed Elrond. He also regretted the mood of their parting. Maybe it was his fault that Elrond had not been warmer when they had exchanged goodbyes. Maybe he had been too cold. Maybe he should have gathered up the courage to talk with Elrond that morning when Elrond had watched him getting dressed to leave for Harlond. But Elrond had always been the one to approach him. So surely... surely there was nothing that Elrond could have seen as being amiss. Could he?

Or maybe he was thinking about it too much. He sighed and closed his eyes.

Moments later, he snapped them open again when he heard Master Erestor stand up. He turned his head and his brow knitted when he saw Erestor open the door and slip out of the room. The door shut quietly behind him.

Lindir turned his attention back to the view out of the window and pressed his cheek against the cool window glass. Outside, high up in the sky, grey-sheeted clouds were speeding eastwards, bearing fresh burdens for the mountains streams.

When the door opened again, he did not bother to look around. His gaze drifted to settle on a passerine, which was hopping cheerfully over Lord Glorfindel's strawberry plants and occasionally jabbing its beak at the pink fruits.

A hand suddenly cupped his mouth and before he could think to register danger, someone had seized his arms and wrenched them behind his back. He was slammed face first across the window seat. When he tried to move, a knee jammed into his ribcage and he yelped. Someone sat on his legs.

'Do it quickly!' a voice hissed from beside the door. 'Erestor will be back any moment.'

Near his ear, he heard the shick of a blade being drawn from its sheath. A hand seized the back of his head and wrenched his head backwards. Lindir began wheezing and then, when he saw a cold bridge of steel appear in front of his eyes, piteous mews began to escape his throat. His vision wavered. His eyes watered.

Someone's head bent down and drew level with his own. It belonged to a Noldo with black hair and black eyes that were as dark as obsidian. His skin was as pale as milk. At first, Lindir thought it was Master Erestor, but then he saw that this elf, who was shaking and sweating with the intensity of his wrath and hysteria, was much younger. And this elf was wearing not black, but the grey livery of one of Lord Celeborn's common warriors.

'Hurry up!' the voice hissed again. 'Melpomaen! Hurry up! He's on his way!'

The black eyed elf glanced at the door before his gaze whipped back to meet Lindir's terrified gaze. There was the patter of feet and Melpomaen's hand tightened like a vice on Lindir's tresses. Lindir's head was drawn so far back that he felt that his neck might snap. He closed his eyes.

And then there was a soft whirring noise, a rustling of parchment, followed by a loud THUD, which sounded very close to his head. Melpomaen's grip loosened and Lindir's head whipped forward like a nodding doll, but it had no sooner reached the cushions of the window seat than Melpomaen's grip had retightened and Lindir's head had been drawn back again. Lindir opened his eyes and saw then that there were two black haired elves crouched very close to him.

The one that was Melpomaen was still holding a blade to his neck and holding his head.

The other one, the one crouched and holding a drawn sword blade to Melpomaen's neck, his face pale with anticipation and cold with wrath, was Master Erestor.

'Let go of him,' Erestor hissed in Melpomaen's ear, his gaze fixed intently on the blade in Melpomaen's hand. He pulled the edge of his sword so that the blade bit into the pale skin of Melpomaen's neck, straight across Melpomaen's trachea. Lindir noticed that Erestor's other hand was clenched around Melpomaen's knife arm.

There was a long silence. Lindir saw blood appear at Melpomaen's neck. Then a trail coursed down his neck. Then a second trail. The liquid trickled down and disappeared below Melpomaen's collar.

'Let. Go. Melpomaen,' Erestor repeated, biting out the words. 'Our lord needs him alive.'

'And I need him dead,' Melpomaen snarled, lunging forward, heedlessly into the path of the blade. In that moment, as if anticipating the motion, Erestor whipped the sword around so that it's flat blade pressed against Melpomaen's neck before yanking sword and warrior back against his chest. Melpomaen fell, gasping, against Erestor's chest.

'Listen to me!' Erestor hissed. 'You see the blackness now, but if you do this, that blackness will never end! What have you to gain from his death? Huh? You have nothing to gain from this deed, but so much to lose.'

Silence.

'Melpomaen,' Erestor said warningly.

Silence. Melpomaen's grip tightened on the knife.

Erestor's eyes suddenly narrowed and Lindir noticed his hand slide up Melpomaen's arm before falling away. When Erestor spoke again, his voice had calmed slightly.

'Do you think Moyel...?'

Before he had finished, Melpomaen's face contorted with despair and fresh wrath and the elf wrenched his arm loose of Erestor's hold, and, completely releasing Lindir of his grasp, he spun around to attack Erestor...

...whose arm whipped out and struck Melpomaen across the head with a sizable book, the same that had struck him earlier and which had fallen to the floor beside them. Lindir recognised the book as the one with which Erestor had been earlier occupied. The golden thread that was sewn into the front cover read: 'A Treatise on Contemporary Methods of Education by Lord Glorfindel'. This was followed by the emblem of the House of King Ingwë of the Vanyar.

The blow appeared to have knocked Melpomaen out. He slumped limply to the floor and keeled over onto his front. The knife clattered out of his hand and danced across the floor to spin to a halt beside a leg of the sofa.

Erestor picked up the knife and then looked up at both the elf that was sitting on Lindir's legs and at the other elves who were standing in winter room.

'Release Lindir and go back to your posts!' he snapped. 'I will deal out your punishments later.'

The weight lifted from Lindir's legs. His arms were freed and the hand disappeared from his mouth. Then the guards left him. Lindir raised himself gingerly onto his hands and knees before sitting back on his haunches and wrapping his arms around himself to check for any injuries.

There was nothing beyond an awful crick in his neck. He returned his attention to Master Erestor and Melpomaen, who still lay slumped on the floor.

Master Erestor had turned the warrior over and was removing a number of weapons that were fastened at Melpomaen's belt. Lindir noticed that Melpomaen bore a different sword from most Noldorin elves and he gazed in interest at the long flexible sword that Erestor had set aside on the floor beside the unconscious body. It resembled those used by his own people to settle battles between clans. And, more recently, for assassinations.

Then he noticed that there was blood on the floor and his gaze whipped up to observe that there was blood coursing down Master Erestor's hand from beneath the other's sleeve. Had Melpomaen managed to stab him, then?

There was the sound of running feet and then the door burst open to admit a cloaked and gloved Lord Glorfindel. He looked very pale and drawn and was breathing hard with recent exertion, but on looking around and taking in the scene, his face filled with relief.

'Oh, thank goodness,' he breathed. He strode over to where Master Erestor sat crouched beside the limp body. He opened his mouth to speak, and...

'I thought you were in Harlond,' Master Erestor interrupted quietly, not looking up at Lord Glorfindel.

'Some of my servants happened to see Melpomaen arrive at the place where they are keeping Moyel's body,' Glorfindel panted. He crouched down. 'They saw how unstable he was behaving and then saw him heading towards this hill, so sent for me immediately.'

'And what about the arrangements for tomorrow morning?' Erestor asked coldly. He turned his head and glared at Glorfindel, who looked taken aback. 'I told you that I was perfectly capable of watching Lindir by myself. Why do you doubt me?'

Glorfindel's face darkened with resentment and he stood up. 'I do not doubt you,' he replied stiffly. 'But I respect Melpomaen's abilities. And I also respect the fact that I cannot predict what will happen when both of you meet. Much as I like to think you are rational when you are around your sons, I know that that is not the case at all.'

Erestor's face tightened.

Glorfindel turned towards Lindir and beckoned the youth with a wave of his gloved hand. 'Come,' he said. 'It is best that you not be visible to Melpomaen when he makes it back to consciousness. He is not one to easily forgive.' He glanced sidelong at Erestor, who was checking Melpomaen's pulse. 'Much like his father,' he muttered.

He led Lindir towards the door, but then Lindir suddenly recalled the blood that he had seen on Erestor's hand and stopped. Lord Glorfindel looked at him attentively.

'Master Erestor, I think,' Lindir began hesitantly, glancing nervously back at Erestor. 'I... I think he may be wounded.'

Glorfindel brow knitted and he followed Lindir's gaze to Erestor's left arm. His face clouded when he confirmed what Lindir had seen. 'Erestor!' Glorfindel said. 'Would you like me to call someone to have a look at that injury?'

'It is not serious,' Erestor replied sourly. 'And you should leave before he wakes up.'

Lord Glorfindel nodded. He opened the door and ushered Lindir out into the passageway with a hand to the youth's shoulders.

'Come,' he said, when they were walking along the passageway and heading back to the entrance hall. 'My tailor has repaired your official costume, which was slightly damaged under the rubble in your old room, and I would like to make sure that it fits you before tomorrow morning.'

Lindir nodded and wondered if it would be prudent for him to inquire about the whereabouts of the servants who had died on the property the previous night.

They entered the entrance hall and began ascending the stairwell.

'How is your nose?' Glorfindel asked, before Lindir could formulate his question.

'It is good,' Lindir said.

'I will have to change your guards again,' Glorfindel added.

Lindir nodded.

When they reached the first level landing, Glorfindel guided him down the passageway that was immediately to their left.

'These are my private rooms,' Glorfindel explained, gesturing right and left to various doors inset in the walls on either side of the passageway. They stopped in front of one of the doors and Glorfindel opened it to welcome him into an expansive bedroom.

'I would like you to stay in this guest room tonight,' Glorfindel said, waving a hand at the rather effeminate and flowery surrounds. 'It was designed with the lady of the house in mind, but as I am unmarried, it stays unused. I hope you do not mind. It is just that this part of the house is the most secure and I really do not feel comfortable with allowing you to sleep in the winter room, especially with Melpomaen in Harlond. I will do what I can to remove him from the premises as soon as Erestor has finished with him.'

'It was quite comfortable,' Lindir said earnestly, turning around to look at Glorfindel. He coloured. 'Your winter... room was comfortable,' he clarified. 'And I am used to sleeping on the floor.'

Glorfindel brow knitted. 'That is true, but this is a Noldorin house and...'

'I do not mean that I do not wish to sleep in this room,' Lindir hurriedly said. Then his eyes widened when he realised that he had interrupted Glorfindel and he paled. 'I... I apologise for my rudeness,' he stammered and he gave a low bow.

When he straightened, he saw that Glorfindel was gazing at him with an odd expression on his face.

Then Glorfindel smiled slightly and shook his head. 'Please forget about it. To be quite honest, your politeness embarrasses me.'

'I am sorry,' Lindir hastily apologised, before realising what he had just said. He coloured red and across from him, Lord Glorfindel laughed pleasantly.

'Go and try on the clothes,' Glorfindel said. He nodded pointedly to a pile of green clothes that sat on the chest at the end of the bed. 'They should fit you.' He turned away and walked over to the dressing table.

Lindir watched him sit down on the embroidered chair and turn his attention to the contents of the dressing table drawers. Then, a smile touching his lips, Lindir turned and went over to the indicated clothes. Lord Glorfindel, he decided, was one of the friendliest elves that he had ever met.


Chapter Fourteen: About Malgalad And Haldor's Trick

Chapter Summary: In which Elrond learns more about Malgalad and Glorfindel falls out of a bath tub.

On waking, Elrond discovered that he was lying in a large bed. He rolled onto his side and gazed at the light that was streaming through the window. It appeared to be late afternoon.

Afternoon? His eyes widened and he sat up with a jolt. Goodness! Had he slept that long? He raised his right hand to press it to his forehead and was relieved to find that his temperature had returned to normal.

His thoughts returned to the previous night and with a soft groan, he flopped back against the pillows.

Then, a thought occurring to him, he raised the sheets and peered down. He was only slightly appeased when he saw that he was dressed in a strange sleeping robe. Considering how Elrond distinctly did not remember being in any state to undress himself last night, that meant that he had been undressed by someone else. Which, considering the nature of the two people who had been in this house last night, was not a pleasant thought to him.

He closed his eyes tightly and then opened them wide and deeply inhaled.

The scent of sex tickled his nostrils and with a scowl, he sat up and pushed off the bed covers to get up. He strode over to the door and pulled it open to gaze suspiciously across the second story landing. In the distance, he could hear movement and soft voices chatting in laughing tones. He tiptoed across the landing until he reached the stairwell. He peered down and saw two maids busy scrubbing the stairs.

Ah. So Prince Erenion's servants had made an appearance. A pity that he had not arrived earlier the previous day in order to catch them. Surely then, he would not have had to sit in a cold drawing room until he had caught a chill.

He returned to his rooms, dressed, and washed in a small basin that was inset into one wall for that purpose, before trotting back out onto the landing and making his way down the stairs. On the first floor, he passed an open door, which led into a sitting room.

Curious, he poked his head into the room and saw the servant, Malgalad, lying on his front on a deerskin rug with his head in his hands. In front of him lay an open book, which he appeared to be studying in earnest.

Elrond sized up the situation. Malgalad was wearing another dressing gown, but it did not appear that Prince Erenion was anywhere in sight and the book did not look as if it contained lewd drawings. Malgalad also looked as if he had had a shower sometime between last night and this afternoon, because his hair looked clean and neatly combed.

So he knocked on the door and smiled when Malgalad's head whipped around, an automated smile of welcome on his face. This expression quickly died to a polite and apologetic smile when he saw Elrond.

'Good afternoon,' Malgalad said. 'If you are looking for his highness, then he is currently indisposed in his rooms.'

'Ah. And when will he be available to see me?' Elrond inquired.

A wrinkle appeared in Malgalad's brow and the young elf looked sulkily back to his book. 'I do not know,' he said. 'That depends on when he wakes up. He is asleep, as usual,' he added pettily.

'As usual?' Elrond echoed. He stepped cautiously into the room.

'I am his student, which is part of the reason why I put up with him,' Malgalad said grumpily, not looking at him, but gazing gloomily at his book. 'He promised to give me a lesson this afternoon, but as usual, he has forgotten or he does not consider it important.'

'What is he teaching you?'

'Everything,' Malgalad muttered.

'What does that mean?' Elrond queried, not understanding at all. In his experience, most upper class Noldo youths had grasped their basic theory education by their majority. After that, they chose a career field and spent their adult years adding to what they had already learnt within that field.

Malgalad nodded sourly at the open pages of the book that sat in front of him. 'This is arithmetic,' he said.

'Are you planning on becoming a scholar, then?' Elrond inquired.

'No.' Malgalad was silent a few moments, before he said, 'I have not completed my primary education.'

'Oh.' Elrond could not think to say anything else - it felt rude and intrusive to inquire as to why Malgalad had not completed his primary education.

But then again...

'Why?' he asked.

Malgalad sighed and fell onto his side to gaze sideways up at Elrond. 'I ran away from home when I was twenty,' he said. He smiled wryly. 'I ended up in Prince Erenion's camp where I worked as a messenger for a few years. At the end of the war, when I had reached my majority, Erenion offered to hire me as his servant.' Malgalad shrugged and his dressing gown slid open slightly, revealing his right breast.

Elrond approached and crouched down beside him to pick up the book. He gazed soberly at the various problems on the open pages, taking little more than a few seconds to realise the answers on one page. He glanced at the other page, saw that the problems were much the same as on the first, and then placed the book down in front of Malgalad.

'You need to take the product of x,' he began, pointing at the first problem on the first page, 'and then...'

'What? Oh, oh, repeat that, please,' Malgalad squeaked. He scrambled back onto his front and peered closely at the page.

Two hours later, they had migrated downstairs to the library in which Elrond had spent the previous evening hunting in vain for a text that did not deal with some aspect of carnal knowledge.

But apparently (according to Malgalad) there were one or two such books around the place, and one of these was a High-Elven language book, with which Malgalad was having some problems.

So now Elrond was standing in the middle of the library and watching Malgalad hunting through the various shelves of sex guides, erotic literature, and sketchbooks. And finally, after a five or so minute wait, Malgalad stood up on his toes and pulled out an old-fashioned tome, which sat on one of the upper shelves.

Six other tomes fell out and Malgalad hurriedly jumped out of their path. They crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust. Smiling, Elrond moved to help him pick them up and place them back on the shelf. But on reaching to pick up the largest tome, which had fallen open on impact with the floor, he stopped.

Malgalad finished putting the other books away and then crouched down beside him. 'Is something interesting?' he queried, peering at the open pages of the tome. 'Oh, this is one of the books that Erenion brought out of Nevrast with him. I think the collection is one of the few mementos that he has of his father, Fingon and uncle, Turgon. The books contain a number of works by the favourite artists of Fingon and Turgon.'

'Is not that Lord Glorfindel?' Elrond inquired, pointing at a certain golden haired elf, who was sitting and smiling patiently out at them, or rather, the artist. Another elf sat beside Glorfindel.

'Yes, that is Lord Glorfindel and beside him is... is Lord Derufin, who was the head of the House of the Swallow, a household of archers,' Malgalad said, screwing up his head as he thought. 'I think they were the best of friends.'

'Lord Derufin is, I imagine, the father of Lord Duilin of Gondolin?' Elrond asked, looking at the dark-haired elf who sat beside Glorfindel and appeared to be slightly raised on a stool to make up for his short height.

'Yes. He perished in Nirnaeth Arnoediad (Unnumbered Tears) along with his eldest son, Dagnir. Duilin then became the head of the household.' Malgalad shrugged and reached to turn over the page. 'It is a complicated household, that House of the Swallow,' he said, as he continued flipping the pages. 'I have heard that Derufin is a first cousin of Denethor of the Green-Elves. I think the current situation in Lindon would be much more agreeable if Derufin were around to claim the crown of the Green-Elves. He would agree to negotiations with Lord Glorfindel in a flash. Ah. Here is another one of Lord Glorfin... what?'

Elrond had seized his arm and forced him towards him so that their eyes met. 'How is it that you know of the current situation in Lindon and Erenion does not?' Elrond demanded.

Malgalad's eyes widened. 'I...'

Elrond glared at him. 'It is impossible that only one of you keep up with events going on in Harlond.'

A resentful light entered Malgalad's eyes. 'My father contacts me.'

'I hear that he disowned you,' Elrond sharply pointed out. 'So why would he bother to write to you?'

'It is the truth,' Malgalad defended.

Elrond searched Malgalad's eyes for a few moments before shaking his head in disbelief and turning his attention back to the tome. He closed it and stood up. 'If Erestor does write to you,' he said, 'Erenion should still be aware of the events going on in Lindon. Not only are...'

'I keep my personal letters and their content private,' Malgalad bit out.

'In addition to your letters being a source of information,' Elrond continued, 'Erenion has to, whether he wishes it or not, listen to the chatter of his servants. He also has to import these items of furniture, and other items, through outsiders.'

Malgalad glared angrily at him. Elrond had difficulty suppressing a grin.

Finally, Malgalad lowered his eyes and looked away. 'Then go and speak to him,' he said. His voice was coloured with bitterness. 'I am sure that he will be happy to show you the errors in your logic.'

'There are no errors in the logic that I just presented to you,' Elrond replied, allowing a smug smile to spread across his face.

'You are more arrogant than I thought,' Malgalad said, glancing back at him. He snorted. 'As I said, go and speak to the Prince. It is him that you want, is it not? Certainly not his catamite.' He turned and stalked out of the library. Elrond heard his feet tripping lightly up the stairs.

Elrond scowled. No one had ever dared to call him arrogant before, much less a person such as Malgalad.

'Ah well,' he muttered, 'I suppose I may assume that his words represent Prince Erenion's sentiments.' He looked down at the tome in his hands and closed it to read the title on the front: Nevrast I 42 - 46 Volume Six.


In his rooms, Lindir had spent the better half of the afternoon dozing on his bed. Lord Glorfindel had recommended that he rest as much as possible, both to clear his mind of recent incidents and to also rest in preparation for tomorrow morning. So Lindir had dutifully retired to bed as soon as lunch had concluded. But sleeping in the afternoon, apparently, disagreed with his body.

He soon grew bored. He had tried sleeping on his back. He had tried sleeping on his side and even on his front. And then he had rolled back onto his side, missed the edge of the bed, and plummeted to the floor beside the bed.

The two guards who were attending him, courtesy of Lord Glorfindel's household this time, both rushed to help him up. And then, to Lindir's surprise and delight, one of the guards had brought out a pack of cards and proposed that they have a few games to pass the time. Lindir decided, at that moment, that he quite liked Lord Glorfindel's household. This liking increased when the guards, on learning that he knew little about cards, cheerfully set about the task of teaching him.

They had just completed their second game and Lindir was struggling to shuffle the cards, when they heard footsteps in the outside passageway. All three of them looked up at the door, but the footsteps passed on.

The two guards exchanged a look between themselves. 'I thought Glorfindel kicked him out,' one of the guards said. He looked confused.

'Maybe they made up,' the other guard said, looking disgruntled.

'No no, I am quite sure that...'

'Shush!'

The first guard fell quiet and they all listened attentively.

At the end of the passageway, they heard a door open and close. Then silence.

Then guard one hissed to guard two, 'I thought Glorfindel was taking a bath.'

'He is taking a bath,' guard two muttered. He looked as if he was about to add more, but fell quiet when they heard the door at the end of the passageway open again.

Lindir distinctly heard Haldor's voice saying, 'Wait here, please. I just want a few words with him.'

'But he does not want to see you, Your Lordship,' a male voice protested. 'He specifically said that he did not want to see you.'

'But I want to see him,' Haldor retorted. He sounded amused and the two guards exchanged an alarmed look and stood up to hurry over to the door and open it. As they did so, they heard the door at the end of the passageway slam and the sound of a bolt being slid home.

The guards poked their heads around the door and Lindir, after a moment's hesitation, followed suit. He saw the butler, Neldor, standing with arms folded and a scowl on his face at the very end of the passageway. His sleeves were rolled up and his forearms glistened with soapsuds. Lindir turned his head to look at the other end of the passageway and blinked when he saw that there were about seventeen servants standing on the first level landing and just... watching.

A sudden scream rent the air of the mansion, followed by a great SPLASH and an enormous CRASH of cracking china. Then the bolt was whipped back, the door flung open, and Haldor came speeding out of the room, grinning all over his face. He fled to the landing, scattering servants in his wake, and disappeared down the stairs. Lindir thought he heard the front door slam.

'My lord?' The soap-covered butler ventured cautiously into the room. About six servants suddenly hurried down the passageway and crowded around the room's entrance.

'GET THESE CURSED THINGS OUT OF HERE!' Glorfindel shrieked.

'They're not snakes, my...'

'I DON'T CARE WHAT THEY ARE! GET THEM OUT OF HERE! GET THIS STUFF OFF OF ME! MY SKIN... MY SKIN IS PURPLE!' Glorfindel howled, sounding hysterical. 'I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!'

'Maybe, maybe, but I am sure that Galdor would not like that, my lord,' Neldor soothed. 'Now, you stay put whilst I get these creatures. Try not to step on those fragments.'

'I LOOK TERRIBLE!'

'Such a big baby!' Neldor chastised. 'I will have another bath drawn up so that we can get rid of that slime. And unless you run around without your stockings, no one will see those stains.'

There was the sound of muffled sobbing.

'I am sure that it is only temporary,' Neldor continued.

The servants gathered around the door parted to admit the butler, who stopped and stared blankly at the crowd for a few moments before holding out a large fruit bowl.

'You,' Neldor ordered to one of the members of the crowd immediately beside the door, 'take these back to wherever they go.'

'But I have no idea of what they are, Neldor,' the unlucky chosen protested, edging back when he saw the contents of the bowl.

'Then find out!' the butler hissed, thrusting the bowl at the servant. 'And you three!' He pointed at three other servants. 'Go fill the bath in the green bathroom.' He turned around and marched smartly back into the room. The door slammed.

The unlucky servants turned around and began heading towards the landing. The one holding the bowl looking sickened. As he passed Lindir's door, Lindir caught sight of the writhing glistening purple and grey contents of the bowl, which was overflowing with what appeared to be a transparent blue slime. The liquid splattered onto the floor as it passed them to lie in a thick blue glutinous mass.

One of the guards beside Lindir murmured, 'blue hagfish.'

Lindir turned his head and looked at him curiously, but the guard was not looking at him.

'I was unaware that they caught them at Harlond,' the other guard said thoughtfully. 'Maybe one of his siblings brought them...'

'I heard that a ship of Lord Círdan's reinforcements for tomorrow morning were expected about noon today,' guard one said. 'Most likely they arrived on that ship.'

'Ah.'

The servants began dispersing from around Lord Glorfindel's rooms and the landing. Lindir felt one of the guards grasp his arm and gently, but firmly pull him back into the room.

'He will be even more hysterical if he realises that we have all heard him,' the guard said, reading the reluctance in Lindir's eyes.

Lindir nodded and followed him back into his room.


Chapter Fifteen: Another Supper With Prince Erenion

Chapter Summary: In which Elrond receives a proposition.

At sunset, a maid poked her head into the library and told Elrond that supper had been fixed and that he could help himself to the various dishes whenever he wished.

Elrond laid his book down in his lap. 'Thank you. I think I will wait until Erenion awakens, though, and join him for another meal,' he said.

Her brow knitted. 'That will make for a long wait, Your Lordship,' she said worriedly. 'His Highness is certainly awake, but indisposed with Malgalad, if you know what I mean.'

'I see.' So he was faced with the prospect of a repeat of yesterday night's wait. 'When does he usually sup?'

She looked sympathetic. 'It depends on him, I am afraid, Your Lordship. He rarely eats at predictable intervals.'

'Has this always been the case with him?'

'Eh... well.' She smiled awkwardly, glanced around the deserted passageway behind her, and then stepped into the room. 'No, it has not always been the case, Your Lordship,' she said.

'What was he like before his current condition?' Elrond noticed that one of her hands was tightly gripping the door handle. He wondered if Erenion had molested her some point.

Her face visibly brightened at the memory. 'Oh, he was wonderful, Your Lordship,' she breathed. 'He was so courteous, so punctual, so apologetic, even to the extent of making some of us servants seem redundant.' Her face sobered. 'He was so different then. So wonderful.'

'And then what happened?' he pressed, leaning forward on his seat.

Her lips pursed. 'It was when he requested to return to the Undying Lands,' she said. 'He was denied. I think he was angry, but he never showed it. He just... slowly changed. He had us construct this house and to all appearances, he has no plans of doing anything more than waiting until the end of Arda or...' She stopped, looking troubled.

'Go on,' Elrond prompted.

'I... I should go,' she stammered. She jerked open the door and fled back into the passageway. Elrond heard the front door open and shut as she left the house.


Lindir perked up when he heard the door open. He and his two guards looked attentively at the butler, Neldor, who stalked inside and shut the door with a snap behind him. He was holding Lindir's slightly adjusted green shirt in his hands.

Lindir and the two guards watched Neldor move over to the chest at the end of the bed, on top of which the butler laid out the shirt alongside the other items that made up Lindir's green garb.

Then one of the guards, apparently unable to bear the tension anymore, burst out, 'Is his skin really purple?'

Neldor said nothing. The butler straightened and turned to address Lindir.

'I would like you to try on the shirt again, just so that I can check that we made the correct adjustments,' he said.

One of the guards gave a loud sigh. 'Do not be a spoilsport, Neldor. It will not affect your job to tell us whether he has turned into a blueberry or if nothing happened to him at all.'

Lindir stood up, shrugged off his current shirt, and went over to the chest. As he laid down the discarded shirt, he glanced at Neldor's hands and a smile crept across his lips. On straightening, he shrugged on the new shirt, waited patiently until Neldor had finished scrutinising it, and then changed back into his original shirt. Then he returned to where he had been sitting and playing cards with his guards.

Neldor folded the shirt, placed it beside the rest of the green costume, and then stalked out of the room.

'Prig,' one of the guards muttered. Then he noticed Lindir's smile. 'What is it, Lindir?'

Lindir blushed. 'The palms of G-Neldor's hands,' he stammered nervously. 'The skin of his palms is stained bright violet. The colour of periwinkles.'


Elrond had been enjoying a very pleasant supper by himself in Erenion's dining room with Erenion's food. He was just buttering himself a sixth slice of bread to go with the cook's excellent chicken soup and beginning to quite enjoy the act of sponging when he suddenly heard the door of the master bedroom open and the sound of footsteps trooping down the stairs.

He paused, mid-way through reaching to scoop more butter out of the butter dish with his knife, and looked at the door.

As he had feared, the door suddenly opened, revealing Erenion's tall form. Tonight, Erenion was dressed in a grey silk dressing gown that was tied so loosely that it was open to the waist; Elrond could see all of his abdominal muscles.

Erenion's rumpled golden hair, the grey hue underneath the noble eyes, and an overpowering stench of both sex and alcohol completed the appearance.

Elrond bit down a scowl and forced his brightest smile. 'Ah, did you decide to join me?' He hastily put down his knife before his hand moved to jerk the blade up to point it at Erenion's face.

Erenion did not appear to be listening to him. He leaned against the doorframe and raked his eyes up and down the table. And then up again to where Elrond was sitting before a number of heavily laden dishes of local delicacies.

'I recommend the roast pork,' Elrond pressed on, smiling so hard that his jaw hurt.

Erenion's gaze flicked to where the pork lay, mostly untouched, in the midst of the delicacies. Elrond considered Erenion's point of view and wondered, confusedly, why Erenion was not taken in by the delicious aroma of the efforts of his cooks. He, Elrond, had been slavering as soon as he had entered the kitchen and smelt the various works of art.

'There is dessert as well,' Elrond added. 'A great apple pie, custard, and a sumptuous trifle.'

Erenion turned his head and looked at the bowl of chicken soup that was sitting in front of Elrond. 'What is that liquid?'

'Chicken soup,' Elrond replied promptly. 'It is very good for colds. Would you like to have a taste?' He reached for the empty bowl that he had laid out in front of Erenion's seat.

'No.'

Elrond dropped his hand back to the table. His smile faded. 'Are you going to stand there all night?' he asked.

'No.'

'Then...' Elrond began. He stopped when Erenion tilted his head against the doorframe and flashed him a charming, toothy grin.

And then Erenion purred, 'Would you like a threesome?'


The next visitor to enter the room was Lord Glorfindel. He was clad in a dark blue robe that completely covered his body save for his hands and face. He looked as if he was in a sour mood. Lindir and the guards quickly swallowed down their sniggers when, after a brief search, they spotted purple stains on the back of Glorfindel's hands.

Glorfindel glanced over them with sober eyes before turning his attention to Lindir, who hurriedly averted his eyes from staring too hard at Glorfindel's hands.

'The shrine to King Denethor is about an hour's journey out of the city on horseback,' Lord Glorfindel said quietly. 'I will send someone to wake you at two and a half hours before dawn. A bath will be waiting for you. I expect to see you at breakfast in the breakfast room about two hours before dawn.'

Lindir inclined his head.

'I advise you to go to bed as soon as possible,' Glorfindel added. 'I imagine that tomorrow will be harrowing for you.'

Lindir inclined his head once again.

'Rest well, Your Lordship.' Glorfindel nodded curtly, turned away, presented all of them with a fine view of the purple colour that stained about ten inches of the ends of his thigh-length locks, and left the room.


'A simple yes or no will suffice,' Erenion said. He had apparently grown tired of observing Elrond's blank stare since he had ventured the topical question.

Elrond's jaw tightened. 'It is no,' he said. He turned back to his meal, picked up his knife, and continued buttering the sixth piece of bread. Once that slice had been heavily buttered, he woofed it down. Then he cut himself another slab of bread.

Erenion sighed. 'You will lose your good looks if you continue to eat like that, Elrond,' he muttered.

Elrond glanced sidelong at him. 'I do not see the benefits of eating like you, considering your current appearance.'

Erenion inhaled deeply, sighed, and wandered across to the seat beside Elrond. He pulled it out and sat down with a resentful thump. Elrond scowled at the proximity of the reeking cloud of sex and wine.

He began buttering his seventh slice of bread, and then, on noticing that Erenion was just staring blankly at the table and not seeming to register the existence of the delicious dishes, Elrond plopped the slice of bread in front of him.

'Eat,' he said.

Erenion turned his head and looked at him with open resentment. 'What are you doing in my house?' he inquired. 'You barged in here yesterday. You eat my food. You...'

'Let me tell you a story,' Elrond interrupted, inwardly glad to see such resentment in Erenion's mood. 'Last week, I was told that I was expected to claim the crown of the Noldor of Lindon.'

He waited for a reaction, but Erenion's expression did not change. Erenion continued to gaze at him in irritation.

Finally, Elrond added, 'I learnt that you had not been informed of the fact that I was the next in line to claim the crown. So I thought... in case you wished to claim the crown, now would be the most appropriate time.'

A wry smile twisted the corner of Erenion's lips. 'Then you have completed your mission,' he purred. 'I have no intention to claim the title of High King of the Noldor. You are welcome to it.'

Elrond had not anticipated the rush of disappointment that flooded through him moments after hearing those words. He swallowed. The probing replies, which he was used to having on mental hand to snap back at anything and anyone, had suddenly abandoned him. He looked back at his meal.

Beside him, Erenion sighed and stood up. 'I am sure that there is some paper and pen lying around in the library,' he said quietly. 'Write to whoever brought you here and ask them to pick you up.'

Elrond inclined his head.

'I imagine that they will take up to a fortnight to come and collect you,' Erenion continued. 'You may as well make yourself comfortable until then, so long as you respect my right to peace and quiet.'

Elrond inclined his head again. Then he stiffened when he felt a warm hand land on his shoulder and rest there.

'You are welcome to join Kitten and I, if you wish,' Erenion added.

Then the hand slipped away. Erenion padded out of the room and up the stairs. The door to the master bedroom opened and shut. Then all was quiet.

Elrond's face crumpled and he began to weep.

Continued...

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